a Kismet column
ONCE I have a conversation with a friend in a place called “Bantod.” With
sandwiches and Coke in cans while watching the sunset, we shared
childhood stories. When it was my turn to speak, the clouds were like
two people laughing.
Behind it, vanilla sky looks like a lady crying. I stopped and
said, quoting James Taylor’s song, “Is it okay If I call you mine?” My
friend hummed the song as I pointed to him the figures in the sky. “Oh
yeah!” he said. Then we have this unforgettable conversation:
“Why does someone have to feel the pain when he/she is in love?”
Have you also asked? I actually don’t know the answer but then I have
to say something. So I told him “…maybe because sometimes we have to
be in pain to realize how powerful love is.” “Then why can’t people
accept this truth? Isn’t it that to love is simply to do the will of
the beloved? Because when you love someone you don’t own the person -
nor have authority or power over the person rather you risk yourself by
allowing another person to tame you. Like friendship – we become
responsible for our friends but we never own them. I think this is
love. Perfect, free,” he said.
My friend was actually suffering from leukemia. I could feel his
pain and wished it were mine – at least I could bear his pain for a
while. I could feel his weariness when he talks or looks at me but he
never whined. Everyday, our routine would be to open his letters and
then I’d read it for him. Then we will talk and talk about life and its
complexities.
I cried while staring at him in bed or in his wheelchair – how
beautiful he is and perfect only if he is mine. When I stop crying, he
will hold my hand and say: “It’s just dying, we will meet again. I’ll
always be up there to guide you–I’ll be a star different from all the
stars because we’re friends. You’ll know it.” He smiled wearily.
In his weakest moments, bedridden in the hospital, I kept on
watching him, trying to hide my tears as the illness slowly kills him.
Yet he still smiles and tells me: “When I’m gone, don’t cry for I’ll
never get to heaven if I see you cry.” It hurts but I have to be strong
for him. He gave me the strength when he smiled and when he made me
laugh.
Ironic though, I should have been the one to help him capture every moment with him but I was weaker than him.
When I tell this to friends they feel sad but I’m not, I only miss
him. What matter is that he is up there smiling at me. I could see his
smile when I attended my first prom. He knows I’ll never wear a gown or
a dress. I’ll rather wear jeans and shirt, but he said: “I know I won’t
be here when the day comes – I’m leaving but wear this gown for
me…even if I won’t see you. Know that I am with you.” I felt guilty
that day. And so, even in my stubbornness I wore the silk red gown,
took a picture of myself that he never got to see.
It was painful. I cried silently for a week – not only because he
is already gone but because I never told him that I always cared.
Anyhow, I’ve learned so much about life – strength, hope, trust and
love. Someday, if I’ll have another chance I will ask him: “Is it okay
if I call you mine?” The song that would always remind me of him. It
sounds corny but what matters is making a precious moment last by
telling the people we love what we feel.
The day after I found myself on my feet again, I made a vow: Never
loose the moment to simply say the words “I love you” or “I care”
because in another time, it will be different. Tell your family,
friends, teachers and others whom you care about that you love them.
Who knows, we’ll die any moment.
